


What Fucked With Your Sanity

by MCRmyGeneral



Series: Words I Never Said [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bipolar Disorder, Break Up, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Mental Breakdown, refusing medication, unmedicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 04:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10586157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCRmyGeneral/pseuds/MCRmyGeneral
Summary: "Good times, bad. Sickness, health; all that shit."The break-up scene from 5x12, how it should've been handled.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Been to Hell by Hollywood Undead.

The buzzing of his phone vibrating against the nightstand jerked Mickey awake. He groaned in annoyance. After all, he'd only been asleep for an hour or two, the rest of his night spent worrying about his boyfriend and self-loathing over the fact that he'd fucked a random stranger last night as a temporary and subpar distraction from said boyfriend. He didn't even get off, and had walked away from the guy without a word.

It took him a second to realize what the noise was. He rolled over and glanced at his phone, adrenaline flooding through his being when he saw Ian's face on his screen. He scrambled to sit up, grabbing his phone and fumbling over his own hands as he tried to slide the ‘Answer’ toggle.

“Fuck,” He swore as his finger missed the button over and over. Finally, the call picked up. “Hello? Hello?” He asked, but the line was already dead by the time Mickey had gotten his fingers to follow his brain’s orders. “Fuck,” Mickey hissed as he dialed Ian's number back. He listened to the phone ring, biting his lip anxiously. “Come on, Ian, come _on_!”

After a moment, the line picked up.

“Hey, Mick.”

Mickey sighed in relief. He didn't realize how happy he was to hear Ian's voice, regardless of how morose it sounded. “Where the fuck are you?” He asked, but there was no bite to his voice, just relief and worry.

“I'm just getting home now.”

“Don't fuckin’ move. I'm on my way.”

Mickey hung up without giving Ian a chance to answer. He ran to his closet, pulling out the first pair of jeans and hoodie he got his hands on. Right now, he couldn't care less how old or worn or ripped or stained the clothes were. He just needed the most basic protection against the sharp Chicago wind. After he threw his clothes on, he grabbed his coat and shoes, running out the door. He hopped down the porch stairs as he threw his shoes on, and as soon as they were securely on his feet, he took off running in the direction of the Gallagher house, pulling his coat on as he ran.

It didn't take long for his lungs to start burning or his calves to start aching. He was a lot of things; a star athlete was _not_ one of them. He used to be in pretty good shape, but Ian had been rubbing off on him, and it had been a few years since he'd had to run from police. His feet hurt and his chest was aching but he didn't dare slow down or stop. He felt like Ian might disappear again if he took too long.

Mickey sprinted the whole way to Ian's, much to his lungs’ protest. He skittered to a stop outside the house, his entire body instinctively loosening when he saw the redhead sitting on the porch steps. He couldn't help the way his chest got tight; Ian was his salvation, and even being near him made Mickey feel at home. He stopped, his panting the only thing breaking up the tense silence. After a moment, Ian looked up at him.

He looked sick, even paler than usual. And tired, so tired that there were dark purple bags under his eyes. He was probably just coming out of a depression, which made Mickey frown. Guilt surged through his body. Ian had been depressed and alone, and Mickey hadn't been able to do anything about it, hadn't even known. 

“Where the fuck you been?” Mickey threw at him, annoyance moving in on the guilt.

“With my mom,” Ian answered, sounding just as emotionless as he looked.

Mickey frowned. Monica was no good, especially not to the son rejecting the very diagnosis she’d refused to accept in herself, the sickness she'd passed on to him. “You okay?”

“I hate the meds,” Ian said, turning towards Mickey. “You gonna make me take 'em?”

“You get fucking nuts when you don't."

“Are you gonna want to be with me even if I don't?”

Mickey's forehead creased. “What kind of stupid fuckin’ question is that?”

“You used to love me. Now you don't even know who I am,” Ian accused, standing up and gripping the railing for support. He looked weak and frail and skinnier than usual, and it scared Mickey. “Shit,” He said with an empty chuckle, “I don't know who I am half the time.”

“Don't be stupid. There's no ‘used to’ about it, and you only feel different because your brain is doing fuckin’ front flips. We-”

“You don't owe me anything.”

Mickey stopped, his jaw hanging half-open as his words died on his lips. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

Ian very pointedly looked anywhere but his boyfriend’s face.

“You think I only stuck around because I feel like I owe you something? That's crap, Ian. Look at all the bullshit we've been through. We did it all for each other. I know I don't owe you anything. I love you.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Ian asked, furrowing his brows.

“It means we take care of each other.”

“I don't want you sitting around, worrying, watching me, waiting for me to do my next crazy shit.”

Mickey scoffed. He knew what this was, what Ian was building up to, and damn if he was gonna walk away from this conversation single. He knew Ian didn't mean what he was saying, now he just needed Ian to see it before he fucked everything up. “Don't you dare act like you're doing me a favor. I love you means thick and thin. Good times, bad. Sickness, health, all that shit.”

“You gonna marry me?” Ian asked smugly. “Are we gonna go down to the courthouse in some tuxes like a couple of old queens?”

Mickey puckered his lips in anger. After all the fighting Ian had done to get their relationship to this level, he had balls to mock Mickey for how strongly he felt about him? Mickey decided to beat him at his own game. He smirked. “Sure.”

Ian flinched in shock, which made Mickey smile. “What?”

Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, why not? If that's what it's gonna take to get through to you, then let's go.”

Ian shook his head. “You don't know what you're saying.”

Mickey scoffed. “Don't tell me how I fuckin’ feel. I've spent the last year looking after you, holding your hand through the mania and the depression and everything in between. I've made you the center of my life. And no, I didn't do it because I think I owe you anything. I did it because I want you safe and I care about what happens to you. If marrying you is what it takes to get you to take your goddamn meds, then I'm gonna do it.”

Ian frowned. Was Mickey actually being serious?

“I'm not with you because I feel sorry for you, and if that's what you think, then fuck you.”

Ian shook his head. “No, thanks. I've already done that.”

Mickey frowned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Too much!” Ian yelled, “Too much is wrong with me. That's the problem, isn't it? Too much is wrong with me, and you can't do anything about that. You can't change it. You can't fix me, 'cause I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed, okay? I'm me!” He threw at Mickey, who huffed.

“I’m not-” Mickey cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd been going about this the wrong way. He had been trying to deal with Ian calmly, cautiously, so that it wouldn't trigger the mania. But he forgot for a second there that that wasn't the way to get through to the irritating redhead. Ian didn't tend to listen until Mickey got harsh. So he flared his nostrils, set his jaw and slipped back into the old him. Ian was sick of the whiny pussy crap? Fine. Then Mickey was gonna give him a dose of the raw thug he'd kept away for so long. “Listen to me,” He growled, and instantly Ian's face changed, surprised to hear the edge in Mickey's voice, one he hadn’t heard in too long. “You need to take off the fuckin’ rose-colored glasses you're wearing and pay attention. No, you're not broken! But there is a fucking chemical imbalance in your head that's making you do dangerous things, Ian! _That_ is what we're trying to fix! You are not defined by this disease; there’s a lot more to you than just bipolar, all right? I'm not trying to fix you or change you. I'm trying to take care of you. Just let me take care of you.”

Ian shook his head. “I don't need to be taken care of. I'm just fine.”

“You are not! You're dangerous, to yourself and the people around you.”

Ian scoffed and shook his head, which pissed Mickey off. He was _really_ trying not to hold this over Ian's head, but he was leaving him no choice.

“You kidnapped my son.”

Anger flashed through Ian's eyes. I didn't kidn-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey yelled at him, taking a step closer and though he didn't look happy, Ian closed his mouth and pursed his lips. “Listen to me, Ian,” Mickey continued, a lot more calmly, “You kidnapped my son, took him right out of his fuckin' high chair. You left him locked inside a hot car.”

Ian grimaced like he'd just been kicked in the stomach, which it kinda felt like he had. He hated thinking about what he had done.

Mickey frowned for just a second, but he pressed on, knowing that Ian needed to hear this. “I know you didn't mean to and you didn't ever want to hurt him, but you could've. How can we trust you to be alone with him or Liam? What happens if you get depressed while you're with one of them and can't get yourself off the fucking couch?”

Ian’s breathing got heavier as he thought about what Mickey was saying. “I didn't.... I mean, I. Shit, Mickey,” He stuttered, realizing that he didn't have a rebuttal.

“How many guys you fuck over the last year? Or blow or jerk off? The ones that weren’t at the club.”

A sheen of sweat broke out over Ian's forehead. He had fooled around with at least two dozen guys behind Mickey's back, but never intentionally. It just felt like an itch that would've killed him had it not been scratched, and in the moments he'd done it, he had no control over himself. He didn't know Mickey knew about it. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Don't play stupid, you're just insulting us both. I could see it written on your face, but I tried to ignore it. Your know-it-all brother called it hypersexuality. Any one of those guys could've tried to hurt you. Hell, you fucked some fairy bareback while shooting a porn!”

Ian grimaced again, another memory he wasn't particularly fond of.

“You're lucky you didn't catch anything. The things you're doing, the decisions you're making are reckless and impulsive and dangerous, Ian. And listen, we know it's not you, okay?” Mickey insisted, softening his voice. “You'd never put Yev in harm's way and you'd never cheat on me. It's not you making these decisions, it's the fuckin' chemicals in your brain pulling your strings. You're gonna get hurt if you don't get it fixed. And I know it sucks, getting blamed for all this shit that you don't mean to do, but it's the hand you've been dealt. You can't just let it go untreated. I know it's not fair, but you just gotta put on your big boy pants and deal with it.”

Ian frowned and shook his head. “I hate it. Having to wake up and take pills every morning. I can't drink, can't take ‘em on an empty stomach, have to get so many hours of sleep a night, I'm having trouble gettin’ it up,” He said sadly. “I was normal a year ago. And now this shit is ruling my life. It isn't fair. I don't want to be bipolar, Mickey,” Ian sobbed, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth.

Mickey's heart broke. He rushed over to the boy and wrapped his arms around him, lowering them both until they were seated on the steps. He brushed the hair out of Ian's face as he spoke.

“Hey, hey, hey. Ian, come on,” He said softly, his lips against Ian's temple, “I know this sucks. But ignoring isn't gonna make it go away. Look at your mother.”

Ian stiffened, and turned to throw a frown at his boyfriend.

“She broke your heart over and over. Your siblings, too. She hurt and abandoned her own children, and it was all because she couldn't deal with her disease. I know you don't wanna end up like her, pushing away everyone you care about. You need to accept this diagnosis. But you can't just accept it, you need to treat it. You need to start taking your meds.”

Ian sighed, like Mickey's words exhausted him. He brought a hand up to settle on Mickey's neck and turned toward him, his breath blowing over his skin.

“What if I never get normal? What if I never even out? I don't wanna walk around feeling like I'm half-asleep for the rest of my life. It's no way to live.”

“But manic is? Either bouncin’ off the walls or not able to get out of bed?”

Ian grimaced.

“The haze will go away; every doctor we've spoken to has said the same thing. You just need to get used to the meds. You'll be back to normal soon, you just gotta power through the fog for a little while longer.”

“What if I can't? Mickey, what if I can't?” Ian asked, his eyes slipping closed. Mickey watched as a silent tear ran down his face.

Mickey bit his lip to keep his own tears at bay. He ran his thumb along Ian's cheekbone as he spoke, wiping the stray tear away.

“You're not alone, Ian. You don't have to deal with it alone. That's where you and your mother are different. You've got a ton of people that care about you. We want you healthy. This is the only way to do it. Look at me. Look at me, Ian,” Mickey said firmly when Ian didn't raise his eyes.

He looked up at Mickey, his eyes wet and red.

“I am right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here when you get sick from the pills, when you get overwhelmed and can't remember which bottles are which, when you hate yourself and wanna stop taking them. I'm right here. You're not going through this alone. I won't let you.”

Ian's lip started shaking. Mickey was right. Everything he was saying made perfect sense. Ian knew he needed to waive the white flag. Mickey was here, cradling him even as Ian tried to break up with him. He knew he couldn't now, wasn't even sure why exactly he'd wanted to in the first place. For what, caring too much? For having Ian's health be his top priority? For loving him too much? Mickey was everything Ian had ever wanted. The thought of leaving the boy after everything he'd just said made Ian's stomach convulse. How could he be so stupid as to try and throw this away? Mickey cared so much about him, Ian knew he'd never mean this much to anybody else. Nobody would ever love him as much as Mickey did. He was a lucky son of a bitch.

Ian sniffled and smiled. “God, I hate it when you're right,” He chuckled and Mickey pushed his head with a smile.

“We're gonna get you normal, okay? Together.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, Mick.”

Mickey sighed in relief. “We got this, Ian. We'll kick this disease’s ass.”

Ian laughed, honest to god _laughed_ , the first time in almost a month. But it was interrupted by a sharp push against his chest. Ian threw his arm out behind him to catch himself.

“The fuck was that for?”

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? Letting your mother fuck around in your head and convince you to break up with me? Don't fuckin’ play around with that shit, Ian,” Mickey warned, fire in his eyes.

Ian frowned. “I'm sorry, Mickey. I didn't mean it, you know I didn't.”

Mickey sighed and pulled Ian back to him, his lips finding Ian's by second nature. He set a hand on his neck and Ian's hand crept into his hair. By the time they parted, Mickey's cheeks were red.

“Don't fuckin’ do that to me,” Mickey whispered, low and vulnerable. “Don't leave. You're too important.”

Ian shook his head. “I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry.”

Mickey exhaled through his nose and pulled Ian into a hug, burying his face in the boy's neck. “God, I love you so much, Ian.”

Ian ran his hands up Mickey's back to wrap around his shoulders. He smiled at the boy's words. Sixteen-year-old Ian would've nearly cried hearing those words. All he wanted back then was for Mickey to care about him, and now he had it, and it was just as he'd always imagined it would feel. The feeling in his chest when he heard Mickey tell him he loved him was the best rush he'd ever felt, better than any pill or powder he'd ever put into his body.

“I love you, too, Mickey,” Ian whispered against the boy's skin. He felt Mickey's muscles loosen at his words, and it made his heart flutter all over again.

“We're gonna get you through this,” Mickey whispered as they pulled away, still clinging to the other’s clothes, “I'm not giving up on you, so you can't give up on you, either. You're the toughest son of a bitch I know," Mickey said with a smile.

Ian chuckled. “I don't know what I'd do without you, Mick.”

A blush crept over Mickey's cheeks. Hearing how much he mattered to the boy made everything worth it, put it all into perspective. He'd be lost without Ian.

“Were you,” Ian said hesitantly, “Were you serious?”

“About what?”

Ian licked his lips. “When you said you'd mar-”

“Mickey,” A female voice called from down the street. Ian stopped mid-word and he and Mickey both turned toward it. “Mickey!”

Mickey's eyes widened. Sammi was walking toward them, hate in her eyes. “Holy shit,” Mickey swore.

Ian squinted. “Is that Sammi?”

“She's alive?” Mickey asked, and Ian turned a confused eye his way.

“Why wouldn't she be?”

“Mickey,” Sammi called again.

Mickey looked down at the pistol in her hand. “She's got a fucking gun,” He noted.

“She _what_?” Ian asked.

Sammi raised the gun then, pointing it directly at the boys.

Before Ian could react, still hazy from either the meds or lack thereof, Mickey had pushed him roughly, shoving him down onto his back as a bullet splintered the wood he'd just been in front of.

“What the fuck?” Mickey yelled, scrambling to his feet and sprinting inside the house.

Sammi followed him, running up the stairs and right past where Ian was still trying to catch his breath at almost being shot. He gave it another second before he leapt to his feet and followed his sister and his boyfriend.

Fiona and V were standing in the kitchen, both wide-eyed and nervous and staring out the wide open back door.

“What the fuck?” Fiona yelled at Ian as he ran past, but he didn't stop to explain, he just followed the sound of gunshots out to the alley behind the house. He hopped over the railing, not wasting time with stairs. 

“Fuck you!”

“Oh, you're gonna get fucked!”

Ian heard the exchange, but couldn't see either party. He stood in the middle of the street panting as he combed the alley for the pair. Suddenly there was a hand on Ian's shoulder, which made him flinch.

“Is that Sammi?” Fiona asked and Ian nodded.

“You tried to fucking kill me!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, too!”

“Fuck you and your weird-ass kid!”

Ian still didn't see them, but he couldn't help but laugh at Mickey.

“What is going on?”

“I'm not sure,” Ian said, bracing his hands on his knees and still trying to catch his breath, “Mickey tried to kill Sammi. Sammi's trying to kill Mickey, and something about her being in a box for a week.”

“When did you get back?” Fiona asked, hugging Ian tightly, then pushing him toward V so she could hug him, too.

“Couple minutes ago.” He flinched when he heard sirens approaching.

“Oh, you're gonna get fucked, you little bitch!” Sammi shrieked, and Ian saw Mickey turn the corner. He sprinted past the three, back down the alley, Sammi hot on his heels.

“You shoot like a bitch!” Mickey called over his shoulder.

“How's Monica?”

“Living with a teenage meth dealer,” Ian explained, turning and running after Sammi.

“Sounds like Monica,” Fiona called after him with a smile.

Ian laughed as he ran, the wind in his hair familiar and comforting. For the first time in weeks, he felt normal. He felt like himself again.

When Ian caught up to Sammi and Mickey, they were both in handcuffs, both struggling and fighting against the arresting officers.

“Mickey!” Ian yelled, trying to run to his side, but Tony stopped him.

“He's being taken in, Ian.”

“Why? He didn't do anything!” Ian insisted, trying to wiggle out of Tony’s grip.

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Attempted murder. He almost Roofied your sister to death.”

“She deserved it!” Ian argued, twisting his head to look past Tony to where Mickey was bent over the hood of a cruiser, staring forlornly at him.

“Can’t let you interfere, Ian.”

Suddenly there were arms wrapped around him.

“I got him, Tony. When will we be able to see Mickey?” Fiona asked.

Tony shrugged. “Gotta get some legal stuff situated first. I'll let you know when he can have visitors.”

Fiona nodded and kissed Ian's temple. Ian couldn't do anything besides stare as Mickey was shoved into the back of the car. Mickey twisted to look back at Ian through the glass, and a single tear rolled down Ian's cheek.

“Come on, sweetface,” Fiona said softly, turning Ian back toward the house. “We’ll call the lawyer that took Carl’s case.”

“I’ll go talk to Kev. We’ll get some loan applications,” V said, rubbing Ian’s shoulder, “Help scrape together what we gonna need for legal fees.”

“Debs’ll be his alibi. Say they went to dinner together. He won't be gone for long,” Fiona reassured Ian, “We're gonna bring him home. He's family, after all, and Gallaghers look out for family.”

Ian nodded, his chest tightening as he listened to Fiona and V plan.

If there was one thing Mickey certainly was, it was family.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally almost forgot about this! I only upload on my days off, and I'm down to just one day off a week instead of my usual two, and for some reason I totally didn't even think about the fact that I hadn't uploaded this week's fic until like, 20 minutes ago. So there might be more mistakes than usual because I tried to speed-revise.
> 
> As always, I take requests and prompts! Let me know what you'd like to see [here](http://ieroween1031.tumblr.com/ask)!


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